


night vision

by serendipitiness



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Feels Many Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bits of fluff, Inspired by Greek Mythology, M/M, POV Alec Lightwood, POV Magnus Bane, Sad Magnus, Show Prequel (kinda), Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, cupid and psyche, it gets happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 14:53:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitiness/pseuds/serendipitiness
Summary: “N-no. No. No.” There were a thousand directions this could have taken, and this isn’t one. Shouldn’t be one. Alec is tripping over the words, his thoughts a mess because it’s true, his timer had been down to the last minutes when he’d closed his eyes and then now…His soulmate is a stranger in the dark, someone without a face. A man.(or how Alec finds his soulmate, inspired by the myth of Cupid and Psyche)





	1. night vision

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by, but not tied to, the myth of cupid and psyche. go read it! this might make more sense if you do :)
> 
> timeline-wise, 90% takes place before Season 1 of the show.

_Do you know how long I’ve waited for this, my son?_

***

This is how the evening goes.

Alec locks himself in his room.

He thinks someone’s banging on the door, but he can’t quite hear anything over the tinny ringing in his ears that has his head aching.

People are not good for him right now. He needs to be away, alone, because he’s sure he’ll punch the next face he sees.

Izzy knows. She’s been at his heels about it for weeks, asking how he’s feeling, giving him hugs, telling him it’ll be okay.

(it won’t)

Jace knows. And that’s the worst of all. Because he keeps bringing it up too, and every time he opens his mouth it just confirms to Alec that he’s not the one.

It’s tiring. He’s thought a lot about it, how sick he is. That he feels that way about Jace, knowing they don’t match. He’s thought so much about it that the sickness doesn’t register, because it’s normal now.

It’s normal for him to be sick. It’s just how he is.

He clutches a tablet in his hand – there are a week’s worth of mission reports he’s supposed to go over. He plans on using them to distract him from the knocks on the door and his thoughts and the ticking on his wrist.

Barely an hour later, his eyes are aching from the sickly blue-white glow from the screen, the light faint but still too much.

Two hours, it says.

Alec’s not planning on leaving his room, so he wishes a silent good luck to the higher powers trying to drive him into the arms of some stranger. He’s not going anywhere. It’s not going to happen.

It’s not.

.

Forty-two minutes.

.

Nine minutes.

.

Zero.

***

There’s someone in his room with him.

Alec can hear steady breathing, the rustle of clothing. He keeps his own body still, makes sure his breath maintains its beat, and just barely opens his eyes.

He can’t see anything.

His eyes shoot open, then, and he knows he’s breathing too fast now. It isn’t just  _dark_ … it’s pitch black. He raises his hands in front of his face, and he can’t see them. It’s like the sun has vanished like a candle blown out, and Alec is  _blind_ , robbed of his vision, and –

“Ragnor, I swear if this is you, I will shove a –”

Alec startles and leaps up in the direction of the voice, stumbling and cracking his knee against the floor before he paws his way up, lunging forward. The span of his right arm hits a body. Alec tackles it to the ground roughly, straddling whoever this is.

The stranger’s body is solid, muscular. It’s a man, judging by his build and his voice, and he’s struggling against Alec’s grip, writhing, twisting his hands. Alec can’t see him, doesn’t know if he’s dealing with a Shadowhunter or demon or wayward mundane, but he’s fighting and Alec’s weight isn’t enough to hold him down for long.

“Who the hell are you and how did you get into my room?” he grits out, panting. He feels for a stele in his pocket, for anything, but he has nothing to fight with on his body. The stranger stills, body tensing under Alec’s legs, as if listening, thinking, and suddenly, unexpectedly throws Alec off him with surprising force, leaving Alec lying on the cold ground with a bruised elbow.

“Why don’t you share first, my friend,” says the voice, quiet and lilting. “Tell me who put you up to this, and I’ll go my merry way and…” He stops without warning, breath stuttering. In the darkness, the quiet is deafening.

Alec rises to his feet, crouching low to the ground as he slinks toward the voice. He has a hunter’s gait, slow and silent, drawing ever closer until the instinct in his gut tells him the stranger is but an arms’ length away. He fights the urge to pounce, waiting for his next words, so he’s sure.

“Stop. Don’t,” the voice murmurs quietly. “You’re my soulmate.”

.

.

_What?_

Alec sags. Those were  _not_ the words he expected, except…

By the Angel.

“N-no. No. No.” There were a thousand directions this could have taken, and this isn’t one. Shouldn’t be one. Alec is tripping over the words, his thoughts a mess because it’s  _true_ , his timer had been down to the last minutes when he’d closed his eyes and then now…

His soulmate is a stranger in the dark, someone without a face. A  _man_.

Alec almost laughs. His fortune is incomparable.

He curls up into himself, thinking about how anxious he’d been the entire day, about scared he’d been because today was the day he was meant to meet his soulmate, his complement, the person who fit him best, and it’s  _this_. Echoes of  _this is right_  and  _you know it is_  and  _it’s him_  float through his skull. He’d tried to run away from it, but still it’s come, fingers wrapping themselves around his ankles and dragging him into a mess he doesn’t want.

(of course he doesn’t want it, not at all)

“Shh,” the stranger soothes, “don’t fret. Stay calm, and we’ll solve this riddle.” He’s a step away from Alec now, and Alec stiffens, pulled from his thoughts to the present. His head tells him he needs to get away, but the stranger’s voice is honey-gold and soft, wrapping around Alec like a warm blanket in the dark.

“My name is Magnus. Magnus –” he chokes on the word, coughing sharply, painfully. It continues ceaselessly for long seconds, and then Alec stands awkwardly, torn between the proper action of staying still and the pull in his gut telling him to help.

The hacking stops. He tries again, but he still can’t get further than his first name.

Magnus. Like the warlock, Alec thinks.

He is cautious, rolling the word around in his mouth before he says, “Alec.”

He can hear the smile on Magnus’ face when he says, “Okay. Alec.” He feels a hand gently graze his arm.

Alec jumps back. It’s still too much. He can’t digest it, can’t  _understand_  why and how and who. Feeling the pressure of this stranger’s arm on his own means it’s real, and part of Alec is still hoping he wakes up to the feel of a thin mattress at his back and stark black numbers still ticking on his skin.

“W-why are you here? How did you get here?” Alec asks, hating the shaking he hears.

“I was in my room, in my loft. You…?” Magnus asks, hesitant. There’s an odd current of uneasiness running through his voice, undercutting the soft warmth of it.

“The Institute” is on his tongue when it’s cut off abruptly by a desperate itch in his throat, painful in its intensity, and Alec doubles over, coughing.

They discover after three more aborted attempts that there are facts and phrases that are off-limits, that cause them to choke with an invisible grip wrapped tightly around their necks. That by some curse, some spell, some sadistic depraved higher being, Alec’s not  _allowed_  to find out more about his soulmate.

It’s no surprise, if he thinks about it. He’s sick, isn’t he? And this is how he’s suitably punished.

He feels Magnus (is that his real name?) shifting closer, senses heightened in the unforgiving blackness that coats his skin and his eyes and everything around him.

“Don’t,” Alec says. “I can’t, please don’t –”

He blinks, and he’s blinded by a flood of light and color. Except it’s just his room.

He’s back at the Institute.

***

Jace and Izzy fall clumsily into his room when he opens the door.

“Alec, your – stop, what the hell?” Jace asks, and the sound of his voice is, for once, grating on Alec’s ears. “Tell us!”

Alec strides past them, long legs forcing them to jog after him. Izzy grabs his arm, wrenching him back and pulling him to a standstill.

“Alec,” she murmurs, and he hates the kindness in her voice.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

She glances down at his wrist, covered by the length of his jacket, and he can see the moment she decides to grab his hand. He pulls it away behind his back.

“Lay off,” Alec says, injecting all the frustration and confusion he’s felt into his words. He sees the hurt in Izzy’s eyes, the anger in Jace’s, but he doesn’t care, this is  _his_  problem, his secret to bear.

They’ll come back later, he knows. They’ll ask him to show his wrist, to explain where he went, how it happened.

Later, on his own, Alec pulls back the stiff leather cuff, burning his skin with the anger in his stare.

Zero, it says.

The zero is supposed to be a good thing. If it were any other person, any other life, this would be worth a celebration, but instead Alec is here, huddled alone in a corner of the command center, back to his family as he stares stupidly at the curving lines on his skin.

It wasn’t a dream, then. He’s found his soulmate.

(but why did it happen like this?)

(and how will he find him again?)

***

It happens again that night, when he falls onto his bed, muscles aching from a long patrol, mind unsettled from… everything.

He closes his eyes, inhales, exhales, and then –

“Alec?”

“Magnus?”

It’s dark again, the weight of it pressing in, only cut by the glow of his voice. Magnus’ voice.

They don’t touch, Alec’s not ready for that and Magnus can probably sense it, but they hover around each other as they trace the edges of the place they’re in, feeling for doors or windows or just a way out. Alec quickly realizes this isn’t his room; it’s purely an enclosed space, walls firm and immovable, not a crack or a hinge in sight. It’s empty, no furniture, but more importantly it’s not his room, not the Institute, which doesn’t help because does that mean he’s been  _portaled_  here?

This is all too strange, too inexplicable, too supernatural, but Alec is oddly calmed by Magnus. He can hear Magnus’ soft breath, his every step. He can  _smell_  the scent of sandalwood and something he can’t name when Magnus brushes by.

“What’s your favorite food?” Magnus asks randomly as they run fingers over the walls. It’s their second pass, and Alec doesn’t think they’ll have any luck, but what else can they do?

“Uh. I… bacon cheeseburger, I guess,” he answers.

(why are words so hard?)

“My long-standing favorite might be nasi uduk, if it’s authentic,” Magnus says, “just because it reminds me of home. But I’m on something of an Ethiopian kick right now.”

Alec’s quiet. He doesn’t know what to say to that. His answer seems stupid now.

Magnus clears his throat, chasing away the silence. “Ah. Anyway. Beer or wine or cocktails?”

“Huh?” Alec stops in his tracks. “I don’t… I don’t drink.” His face heats up, because that’s never the right answer, and he’s sure Magnus is looking blankly at his direction with a perturbed expression on his face.

(except, I don’t know his face)

“What’s your favorite color?”

Alec shifts, faintly surprised that Magnus didn’t comment, and wonders when he’s going to stop and realize this won’t work. He’s trying with the ridiculous small talk because they’re supposed to be soulmates, but are they? The numbers on his wrist tell him they are, the way his heart beats a little faster when Magnus speaks tells him they might be, but Alec is nobody, a random person masked by darkness.

“Mine’s blue. The blue of the sky when the sunrise is long gone, but the sunset is still far away. Or of bright, blue eyes framed by dark lashes. Or even the blue from the indigo plant, I still remember the first time I saw cloth dyed that color, and…” Magnus trails off awkwardly, as if just realizing that he’s rambling. “Yes. Blue.”

Alec can't help it. His shoulders shake just a bit as he tries to tamp down the chuckle simmering up in his chest.

(I give up)

“Black,” he answers into the dark. “Mine’s black.”

Magnus chuckles, the vibration twirling through the air.

“Somehow I’m not surprised.”

When Alec finally stops shaking, he presses his back to the wall and slides down until he’s sitting on the ground. It’s obvious there’s no way out, no way in, besides waiting.

“Why aren’t you more worried?” he asks Magnus.

He feels the other man’s knee bump his as he sits next to Alec. There’s heat emanating off Magnus, and Alec’s heart skyrockets when Magnus sits close enough for their arms and legs to be pressed against each other.

(it might be alarm, but it might be something else)

“I’m not worried,” Magnus says softly, “because I think we’ll figure it out. It’s a curse, and curses can be broken. And most of all, I’m not worried because of you.” Alec feels fingers running up his arm before gently resting on his hand, and Alec isn’t sure why he doesn’t pull away. “I’ve waited a long time for you, Alexander.”

Everything about this is wrong. It was never supposed to happen like this – he’s supposed to find a girl, supposed to marry her and run the Institute, and have Shadowhunter children. He should want that, he told himself he wanted that, but in this moment, locked in with Magnus, he finds himself forgetting the questions and problems and disaster that’s sure to follow.

Alec feels… he doesn’t feel hollow. The empty ache in his chest isn’t there anymore. However the soul bonding magic happens, it knows Alec better than he does himself, because now… he feels like everything makes more sense, like even without speech or touch Magnus calms him, fills him, and even though he’s a mystery, even though Alec doesn’t know anything about him, it’s okay. Because this is what poets write about, what every mundane and Shadowhunter and Downworlder waits for, isn’t it?

This feeling.

***

“Why do you call me Alexander?”

“It suits you.”

“You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Still. It suits you.”

***

They tiptoe around him, but he can tell they’re confused.

Yesterday he’d been seething, angry, lashing out at them because he was mad at them. At himself. At everybody.

He looks better today. Feels better today.

“You… you seem happy, Alec,” Izzy says hesitantly as they pore over reports on a rise in demon activity in the Bronx. He’s sad that she’s nervous around him, knows she’s concerned.

He hums noncommittally.

Jace pulls him aside later in the day. “You’ve got dark circles under your eyes,” he says bluntly. “You’ve been out. And your timer hit zero two days ago. Spill, Alec.”

He doesn’t register until Jace has Alec’s wrist in his hand that he even  _moved_. Jace pushes the arm of his jacket up before Alec can protest.

“Fuck, Alec,” he says at the sight of bandages wrapped tightly around the pale skin. “Why…”

Alec rips his hand away, holding it to his chest, feeling oddly betrayed. “Don’t you dare,” he grits out.

It’s strange, looking at Jace now. Two days ago, he still blushed at Jace’s smiles, held on too long when they clasped hands, fought the desire to stare when Jace was training. Wanted Jace to look at him that way. Two days ago.

But now, it’s just the faintest traces of what he felt before that are left in his head. His mind is filled with the shadow of someone else, someone whose voice is honey, whose soft touch makes him confused. He doesn’t know anything about him, not yet, but he’s learning, drinking in his words and reading the comfortable silences and sighs that happen in the night.

“Jace, stop it.” He tries to leave, fury still burning, revelation aside, but Jace grabs his bicep, pulling harshly, his eyes bright and angry.

“I’m sorry, I… why the fuck won’t you tell us? Why won’t you tell me? I’m your parabatai, Alec, I…” He swipes a hand over his face in frustration. “I can feel it, you know? You’re better. There’s always been that bit missing and it’s… it’s like it’s not there anymore.”

It’s always hard to stay angry at Jace for long. He always hurts without meaning to. Alec offers the smallest of lopsided smiles. He’s lucky, he thinks for the first time, to have Jace as his parabatai.

(just his parabatai)

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready,” he says.

***

When he goes to search for Magnus in the Clave’s database of documented persons, he types an “M” out and immediately feels like his fingers are being twisted in a vise and his head is being stabbed by a butter knife. When he hits “A,” the pain swells to his entire body, and he barely gets his finger to “G” before he blacks out.

***

His mother asks him why his wrist is wrapped.

He tells her the ticker distracts him.

She looks at him curiously, but nods.

***

They find two dead bodies, vampires, in a back alley behind a dingy bar while on patrol. Their charred, cracked skin sends an uncomfortable itch through Alec.

Izzy is on the ground, examining the victims, but her skill isn’t required when they all know they’ve been burned to death. They’re arranged side by side, neatly, arms folded over their stomachs even as their limbs dissolve to ash.

“What the hell,” Jace breathes.

***

They’re sitting next to each other on the floor again.

Magnus is talking, and Alec has a hard time following because his mind is going a hundred places a minute. This is how it’s been for a few nights, now: Alec sits, reticent, reserved, and Magnus talks to fill the silence that Alec leaves behind. Magnus doesn’t seem to mind, and Alec… he savors it, though he’s not listening for the plot.

Magnus is a charming bunch of words strung together under a blanket of darkness, but Alec likes it. Wants more.

They’ve learned to talk around the things they can’t say. Alec gets frustrated sometimes, when he asks Magnus about his day and hears him cough instead, or when he tries to explain why he’s so tired and can’t. They don’t acknowledge it, don’t speak of it. They move on and forget.

(except Alec doesn’t, he can't forget anything here)

"…and then I ended up dancing on the dining table of my own party in a  _bathrobe_ and screaming like a banshee," Magnus shares, his voice carrying in the shadows. “The partygoers will tell you I was drunk out of my mind, but the truth is I just wanted the loft back to myself so I could pet my cat and watch the latest episode of  _Chopped_.”

Alec’s mouth curls at the corners as he asks, “Episode of what?”

Magnus snaps his fingers. “It’s a dramatic television show about cooking. I tried to get Cat…” He clears his throat uncomfortably. “I tried to get one of my best friends to watch with me, until I realized I was trying to persuade her to watch mundane television in which amateur chefs try to make masterpieces out of stinky tofu and bananas.”

“Um… that sounds interesting?”

“You’re too sweet,” Magnus says. “But regardless, I absolutely  _needed_  to watch an episode that night, and I very happily sacrificed my dignity for the cause.”

Alec grins in the dark as he fiddles with his fingers. “Your life sounds exciting.”

Magnus bumps against his side. “I just told you that I wrecked a party so I could sit in my pajamas to watch television alone. You can’t say that sounds exciting, Alexander.”

“It’s more eventful than my life, at least.”

“I doubt that, my dear. I’m sure you have a lot to share.”

“I really don’t have anything,” Alec muses, trying to ignore the endearment. “I wake up, I train, go on mis– uh, go to sleep. That’s it.”

It’s not a lie. His life has never been eventful that way. Alec’s always known what tomorrow would be like, what his next step is. It’s stable. It’s nice.

(but is it still?)

Magnus’ voice is a gentle whisper. “Don’t undervalue your own stories, Alexander. I’ll always want to hear them.”

He doesn’t know when it happens, but his hand is reaching out, and Magnus is taking it, and Alec marvels that somehow, despite the blindness, their hands find each other with so much ease. He faintly registers the warm metal of rings biting against his skin as he squeezes Magnus’ hand.

Alec’s face heats up, and he’s grateful for the dark.

***

It’s the middle of the day, but Alec is hiding out in his room, eyes glued to the screen. He’s cheering on the chef from New York City who looks like a grandma and keeps accidentally cursing when he nearly drops his tablet.

Apparently, Rocky Mountain oysters aren’t oysters.

He nearly gags.

***

The moment the words come out of his mouth, Alec knows it was a mistake.

They were laughing, Magnus saying something about guano and best friends and Peru, when Alec asks, “So what’s your family like?” and the laughter cuts short.

Magnus answers like he didn’t mean to, his words stilted and unsure. “My family, they… my mother died young… my father wasn’t…” He stops.

The absence of sound is chilling, overwhelming against the blackness of the night. Alec can’t hear a single breath or the blink of an eye, and somehow it’s quieter than when he’s alone.

“My siblings,” he blurts out, the words strident in the deafening quiet. “Izzy’s my sister. She’s the smartest person I know, and she has this weird obsession with dead bodies. Izzy… she likes to pretend she doesn’t care, but she cares so much, all the time.”

Alec hears Magnus sit up a little, and he continues.

“There’s Jace. My adopted brother. He’s my best friend, my parabatai. He’s arrogant and brash and so talented it annoys everyone. For a long time, he… I…” Alec swallows. “Uh, and Max is the baby of the family. We don’t see him a lot, he’s in Mumbai right now, but he’s sweet. Snarky, but sweet.”

(did he hide it?)

Alec feels Magnus lay his hand over Alec’s. “They sound lovely,” he murmurs.

“Yeah. They are,” Alec replies. “Um, sorry. That I asked.”

“It’s fine, Alexander.”

It isn’t fine at all, but then Magnus leans against Alec, floppy strands of hair tickling his nose, and Alec forgets why. He’s distracted by the clink of metal, the whisper of silk, the heady scent…

"My family is made up of the people I care about," Magnus says slowly. "It's my friends, it's the children who come my way, but it's not about blood."

Alec nods wordlessly. It’s cryptic, maybe it means nothing, but he’ll take it.

“Can you tell me about Jace?" Magnus asks.

(no, he didn’t hide it at all)

There’s something nice about knowing someone’s listening. Listening, and hearing the stumble in his sentences. But he’s still scared, because he knows in this place that’s a step away from reality, he can tell the truth, but still…

Alec has never said it out loud. To Izzy, or his family, or even to his pillow when he’s alone.

“Maybe… maybe later.”

***

Alec looks hard at Jace the next day.  Sees his brown and blue eyes and his sunny blond hair and the grim look of determination on his face during training.

He looks harder.

***

They sit side by side on the ground. He’s ready.

He starts with “Jace is my best friend, and I’ve known him since I was twelve.”

But he stalls after that.

Can he say it now? Will the words seep through hidden fissures and make their way into the ears of his mother, or the Clave, or Jace? If he confesses once, will he still be able to keep it hidden when he opens his eyes to the Institute, to the sunshine of a New York day, to Nephilim who look to him to lead?

“Alexander, it’s –”

“I’m in… I used to be in love with him,” Alec says, the words blurring together as he tries to get them out. Now they are, he’s said it, and then…

one

two

three

An arm wraps hesitantly around his shoulders, pulling him in gradually, giving him a chance to shift away. Instead, Alec impulsively leans in until he’s pressed firmly against Magnus, tucked under his chin. Alec’s breathing slows down as a hand strokes his back, soothing and gentle.

(this is the closest they’ve been since the first night, he shouldn’t notice but he does)

(he didn’t know he wanted someone to hold him like this until now)

“I just saw him and… I don’t know. I couldn’t stop myself.” Alec is trembling. “And it hurt. It hurt because he never… and I can’t be that. In the Sha… in my community, it’s never been seen before. My family, my career… if I don’t hide it…”

He’s babbling, his cheeks are wet, and he didn’t even know. He hasn’t cried in so long.

“Alexander, shh, it’s okay,” Magnus murmurs in his ear.

And Alec might be crying, crying in front of  _Magnus_  about another person, but it almost… it almost does feel okay. Like the anvil that’s rested on his chest for all his life is lifted and he can finally breathe free.

“You’re okay. You’re perfect. There’s nothing wrong with you, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Shh, I’ve got you, Alexander.”

Maybe they’re too sweet, too much, but still. There’s no way he knows the effect his words have on Alec. How they take a decade-old wound, infected with longing glances and girls’ giggles and clenched fists, and stitch the edges together until it’s a scar, ugly and prominent and shiny pink, but still just a scar. A reminder of an old pain and nothing more.

Magnus hums in his ear. It’s not a melody but more a melding of sounds, imperfect but reassuring. “I’m sorry it hurt you,” he murmurs. “People will hurt you, accidentally or not, but it’s  _not you_.”

And it’s meant to reassure, but Alec hears it, underneath.

“Who hurt you, Magnus?”

Magnus inhales sharply, and shies away from Alec. The air between them is cold, and Alec almost wishes he hadn’t asked when he feels the distance.

“She… she was–” He clears his throat. “The last time I loved someone, she was beautiful and cunning and abusive.” His breath ghosts over Alec’s arm, and he shivers. “She’s a vampire, hundreds of centuries old, and it just means she knew how to hurt.”

Alec’s chest seizes with something sour and unfamiliar.

(is this what it’s like to be jealous?)

Except… “Vampire?”

“Ah. Yes. She was... is a vampire.”

“And… she?”

“I’m bisexual,” Magnus says drily.

 _Is that a problem for you?_  the silence asks.

Is it? He thinks of everything that he’s ever heard about vampires, every gruesome, morbid thing. He thinks of his mother’s distaste when Izzy mentions anybody who isn’t straight. And he thinks of Magnus, who’s sitting here next to him.

In lieu of answer, Alec turns his head toward Magnus, knocking his head against his chin or his cheek or something. “I used to be,” he says, almost arbitrarily.

He hears the bewilderment in Magnus’ tone. “Sorry, what?”

 “I, uh. I used to be in love with Jace.”

“I know, Alexander. I understand, and it’ll be fine, it’s –”

“No, that’s not… I don’t think I’m in love with him anymore.” His face his hot now. Why couldn’t he have said it like a normal person? He just wanted to say  _I don’t care what you are or who you’ve loved_  but in front of Magnus, he stammers, he’s shy, he’s a total mess.

Magnus doesn’t say anything, but his arm comes back around Alec, tighter this time. They sit in the dark in comfortable silence, but it feels like something has shifted.

***

It’s like a fever dream.

He closes his eyes at night, and opens them palpable darkness, but everything in these dreams is bright and breathtaking. He feels delirious, almost, because it can’t be real. It’s not possible for there to be a place where Alec can be who he is, like who he likes, say what he wants. There never has been.

This is real, though. The first time they met, the ticker on his wrist told him it was so, but now it’s the instinctive pull in him towards Magnus that tells him  _this is true_ and  _it is not a lie_  and  _your feelings are real_.

It’s not love, not yet. He’s not so fickle to fall out of… love? obsession? with Jace, and fall in love with a total stranger with a few touches and kind words.

But this is how soulmates work. You wait and watch and fall in and out of love until all you see are zeros on your wrist and your match in front of you, looking at you with the same eyes blown open stare, and you fall and fall and fall until it’s impossible to surface for air.

Alec might be in the middle of falling.

(he is)

***

On patrol that night, they kill three lone demons before happening upon a line of bodies by a dumpster in East Harlem. There’s a mix this time – three vampires, burned to death, and one werewolf. A werewolf that’s been stabbed to death by a seraph blade.

“Circle members?” Izzy asks tentatively as she kneels by the bodies.

“Has to be,” Jace grunts. He’s staring at the dead Downworlders with a crazed look in his eye.

Alec turns around, back to the scene. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but there’s something brewing in the air.

***

“Wait, let me guess.” Magnus sounds too excited for something as stupid as this.

“Uh, okay. Guess away.”

“Photography.”

Alec makes a face. “I don’t even own a camera.”

“Boxing.”

“Closer, sort of. Actually…”

“Cross-stitching.”

“Wait. What the hell?”

“Scrapbooking?”

“By the Angel, will you stop? Archery! That’s my… my thing.”

“Oh. Oh no.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Alexander… I feel… I feel a bad pun coming on.”

“Oh no, absolutely not, no…”

Before he knows what he’s doing, before he registers how ridiculous it is, he throws himself in the direction of Magnus’ voice, banging his knee the floor before tackling Magnus. He'd planned on putting him in a headlock, but he misses and then they’re both tumbling to the ground and curled up on the floor, laughing until they can’t breathe.

***

She’s staring at the wrap around his wrist again.

“Izzy,” he warns, eyes glued to the charts detailing the count and frequency of Downworlder murders in the past year. There’s definitely been a spike, recently, with the ten bodies they found on patrol, and –

“Is it because it’s a boy?”

He freezes.

Her hand creeps into his vision, red nails resting against his arm. “I don’t care, you know? We’d figure it out, if it is. I just want you to be happy, Alec.”

He doesn’t say anything, but offers her the barest of smiles before he gets back to his research.

***

When he opens his eyes to darkness, he shakes with nerves because there’s something he needs to know.

“Magnus, can I ask you a question?” They’re both sitting on the ground, backs against the wall, careful inches separating them.

“You already have, my dear,” Magnus replies, his rolling chuckle sending a pleasant quiver through Alec. "But go ahead."

“You, uh…” he clears his throat awkwardly. “What do you look like?”

There’s a pause, and then Magnus laughs outright, the air vibrating around him. His laugh is invigorating, enveloping Alec in its glow, but underneath, Alec feels his face grow hot in embarrassment.

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter,” he says in an undertone, wishing a sinkhole would open up under him and swallow him whole.

Magnus quiets abruptly. “Ah, no, Alexander,” Magnus says, voice low, “I’m not trying to make fun of you. If…” he breaks. “If you want to know, then here.”

Alec jumps, shivering, at the feeling of Magnus’ fingers running against his side until it finds his hand, cupping at the bones of his knuckles so that his palm faces upward. In the dead quiet, Magnus unhurriedly raises their clasped hands, and Alec shifts onto his knees to accommodate the movement. He almost chokes when the flesh of his palm meets warm skin.

“This is what I look like,” Magnus murmurs.

Alec stills. He can feel the movement of Magnus’ jaw, the sharpness of his cheekbones under his fingers, as he speaks.

He hesitates for a beat, closing his eyes, before he brings his other hand up and both his hands frame Magnus’ face. Shifting his hands up, he runs the pads of his fingers along Magnus’ hairline, feeling soft strands tickling his skin. He continues down, over the smoothness of his forehead, tracing arched brows.

There’s something painful and sweet growing in his chest as he feels Magnus’ eyes flutter shut. Under fragile skin and short lashes, Alec senses the frantic movement of Magnus’ eyes, and he’s strangely relieved to know Magnus isn’t as calm as he might seem.

(what am I doing what am I doing what am I doing)

But he can’t stop. His fingers draw the straight line of Magnus’ nose, dropping down until his index finger pauses at the Cupid’s bow of his mouth. His hands draw symmetric lines against the parted seam of Magnus’ lips, and his body betrays him with the tremble in his fingers.

(beautiful, he thinks)

It’s too much. He limply drops his hands into his lap, trying to calm himself, but his heart is pounding madly. He can’t hear anything over the beat in his ears. It doesn’t make sense, why is it like this, it shouldn’t be like this at all…

Magnus clears his throat, the sound jarring, ripping Alec from his thoughts.

“Does that…” he stops, exhaling loudly. “Does that satisfy your curiosity, Alexander?”

(is it his imagination or does his name sound softer than usual coming from Magnus’ mouth?)

Alec blinks once, twice, trying to clear his head. “I, uh… sort of. Not really.”

Magnus snorts, and Alec grins involuntarily, the tension breaking.

“I mean, I still don’t know what color your eyes are.”

Magnus moves at the question, pushing himself up and shifting his legs. His knee bumps into Alec, but he doesn’t move it away.

“My eyes… my eyes are brown. Or yellow. Green. Gold. It… it depends.”

Alec raises an eyebrow on reflex. “Okay. Sure. Helpful.” His words come out hoarse, his own head a jumbled mess.

“So,” Magnus diverts, “tell me, what do you look like?” The tone is playful again, masking the heaviness of the past minute.

“Huh?”

“What do  _you_  look like?”

“Uh. Average, I guess,” Alec mumbles, looking down to where his hands ought to be. He twitches at the sudden feeling of Magnus poking at his cheek. “What?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I doubt that very much.” His voice is smoky, heavy as the air around them, and Alec swallows thickly.

***

It’s his nighttime secret, when he gets to indulge and do what he’s never even dreamed of.

When the sun rises and he emerges from his room, he’s Alec again. The Alec of old, who was a wreck on the inside and kept everything he ever felt tucked deep inside. The Alec who’d never met Magnus.

He’s starting to get confused between the two.

***

“I tried looking for you,” he mentions one night. “But it didn’t work. I blacked out.”

“I did as well,” Magnus says. “No luck either.” Alec’s leaning against him, and he can feel the rumble of Magnus’ voice in his chest.

“Do you ever think…” Alec pauses, gathering himself. He wonders why there’s this urge to push when everything’s okay. “Do you ever think we’re too… we’re… we don’t know each other, really?” He doesn’t know what he’s asking.

Magnus’ hands, playing with the hem of Alec’s shirt, stop. “You think we don’t know each other?”

“No, I mean… I don’t know.”

Magnus takes Alec’s hand in his, and closes it into a fist.

“You’re kind-hearted.” He untucks Alec’s index finger until it’s pointed in the air. “You love your family more than anything.” He untucks his middle finger. “You’re loyal and responsible,” he continues as he stretches Alec’s fingers out in succession, moving onto his other hand. “You’re scared of being wrong, scared of being hurt. You’re blunt. You don’t laugh easily. But when you do, it’s beautiful, and it makes me laugh too.”

Alec stares into the air where his hands are spread out in front of him.

“That’s ten things I know about you, Alexander. Shall I move onto your toes?”

Alec chuckles. “No, I get it.”

“What you look like, what your last name is, what you do every day… I want to know, desperately. But even if I might not know the details, darling, I know  _you_.”

Alec’s stomach is churning with emotion he can’t vocalize.

Later, Magnus prods gently at Alec’s cheek.

“I… I know who’s behind this,” he says, his voice subdued, laughter gone. “I did a lot of looking and… I know who.”

“Who?” Alec’s voice is chilly.

“I can’t say.”  _Of course_. “But promise me you won’t go looking. It’s dangerous. Promise me.”

“It’s dangerous, but you can look?”

“I know what I’m doing, Alexander. I can get us out of here, so promise me you won’t go looking.”

Alec sighs. “Fine. I promise.”

“Thank you, darling,” Magnus says.

***

The dark of night was once a time reserved for hunting and ichor and arrows piercing yielding flesh.

Now it’s not.

***

They sit cross-legged on the floor across from each other, far enough to not be touching but close enough for Alec to sense Magnus’ presence on the bare skin of his knee. They're breathing in synchronized time, slow and steady.

Inhale for four seconds, hold it for seven, exhale for eight. Repeat.

Alec is tired. There’s unrest in the Downworld, more demons than the Institute has capacity to handle, and all too much on his mind. He told Magnus this and now they’re supposed to be meditating.

Alec is terrible at it. He can’t clear his head from everything he needs to do. And there’s also this to think about. Magnus. The curse.

He loses the tempo.

“You’re not supposed to think, Alexander," Magnus chides gently.

“I can’t help it.”

“Then tell me, darling. What are you thinking of?”

(darling darling darling)

(he wants to hear it every day all the time)

“Escape. The past. The future.” He shrugs uselessly. “What about you? What are you thinking of?”

“You.”

Alec audibly gulps, his heart pounding in his ears, his palms breaking into a sweat, and his concerns are all shoved into the corner of his mind. “What… what about me?”

“Everything about you, Alexander.”

And then Magnus’ hand is on his, and this is familiar, this has happened before, except Magnus flips his hand over and runs fingers slowly over the creases and cracks in his palms, tickling his skin. Alec shivers, his entire body under assault.

He’s shivering, he can’t stand it, he can’t –

He pushes up, feeling the gentle heat of Magnus’ skin in the air in front of him. He brushes his lips against Magnus’ cheek. It’s not what he wants to do, it’s not enough, but he’s so close, Magnus’ mouth is right there…

He kisses Magnus.

It’s chaste, it’s tender, but it’s magnetic and everything he didn’t know he wanted in one moment. Then Magnus’ lips part under his, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, so Magnus moves, gripping the back of Alec’s neck, pushing and pulling until all Alec can feel is firm muscles under smooth silk and lips moving against his own. Magnus’ tongue runs against the seam of his lips and Alec can’t help it, he  _whines_ , and he opens his mouth and there’s the sweet, indescribable taste of Magnus on his tongue.

“Alec,” Magnus tries to say, but Alec swallows his name, he’s waited so long for something like this and he can’t stop.

Eventually, they stop for breath, and Magnus laughs so happily he snorts, making Alec laugh, and they laugh and they kiss again.

When Alec opens his eyes to see his room the next morning, he’s smiling like a fool.

***

Alec is exhausted, but it’s only early evening when he plops onto his bed and stares at the ceiling.

“Stupid,” he says to the musty, damp air. The word rings out, bumping against walls, spill into his room, looking for ears that aren’t there.

“Stupid,” he repeats, quieter this time. He’ll need to get dinner soon, get ready for patrol, but the word still bubbles in his throat. He bows his head, grabbing at his hair until the pull hurts his scalp.

“I don’t even know what he looks like,” he murmurs under his breath.

(it doesn’t matter what he looks like)

Alec grins to himself and presses his fingers to his lips.

***

  1. You are compassionate.
  2. You are loud and bright.
  3. Your family was never there for you, yet…
  4. You love your friends.
  5. I could listen to your stories every day.
  6. You sometimes snort when you laugh (it’s cute)
  7. You’re a protector.
  8. So who protects you?
  9. You understand me more than anyone else ever has.
  10. I could kiss you forever.



***

“Can you guys come to my room when you’re done? I have something I’d like to tell you.”

.

.

“Are you serious?” Jace looks at him, obviously confused, obviously apprehensive. “That can’t… that’s not normal, Alec.”

Alec almost laughs at that. “No shit.” He turns to his sister, who’s gazing at him with worry and something that looks like relief in her eyes. “Izzy?”

“Thank you for telling us, Alec,” she says, and then she’s reaching out and hugging him tightly, burying her face into his shoulder. He’s sorry that it had to get this far for him to tell the truth, but it feels like everything is back to the way it used to be.

Jace, Izzy, and him. Always.

“Glad you told us, Alec, but really, you have to see how fu–”

“Jace!” Izzy chides, jabbing him with her elbow. She turns back to Alec. “Are you happy?” she asks.

“Yes,” he replies, the lack of hesitation a surprise even to him.

She smiles at him. “Okay then.”

***

He used to desperately miss his crappy mattress, back in the beginning, when the curse meant he had to exchange his room for a dark prison with a stranger.

But now, Magnus’ lap is his pillow, and the cold, unforgiving ground is quite alright, especially with Magnus running his fingers through Alec’s hair.

“How are you, Alexander?” Magnus asks, affection evident in his tone.

“Good,” Alec replies. “And you?”

(maybe you can kiss me again?)

“Good.”

They sit in companionable silence, and Magnus’ hands still as his breathing evens, on the verge of sleep…

“I really wish I could see your face,” Alec blurts out.

Magnus stirs. “Hmm?”

“I wish I knew what you looked like. I don’t… I hate just imagining. I bet…” Alec wavers. “I bet you’re beautiful.”

And then Magnus does kiss him, pulling him up, drinking him in and devouring him and Alec could do this forever.

When they finally part, they’re both breathing heavily, and Alec’s heart is going to burst out of his chest.

Magnus’ hand runs down the side of Alec’s face to cup at his cheek, and his breath stills when Alec turns to press a kiss to his palm.

(when did he get so bold?)

“Alec, I’m close,” Magnus murmurs in his ear. “I know how to finish this. I can… I can cut a deal with those involved. Promise me again that you’ll wait. Promise.”

“I promise,” Alec says dutifully. “Again.”

Magnus tickles at the soft skin of his earlobe, and Alec laughs.

“What will you do the moment you’re free of this? Sleep for a week in an actual bed, I suppose?” Magnus asks, his voice teasing.

Alec kisses his hand one, two, three times more, before he pulls himself up until his nose brushes against Magnus’ ear.

“I’m going to find you,” he whispers daringly, feeling a glow inside him at the sound of Magnus’ breath hitching.

Later, they both fall asleep to steady breaths and clasped hands.

***

_I think… it’s stupid but…_

_I think I might love you._

***

They pull him into his room after patrol and lock the door with a rune.

“I know you’re happy, I believe that you’re happy,” Izzy says without preamble. “No, don’t interrupt. I can see it on your face. You smile more, you snap at people less. It’s good, really, it is.”

“But?” he prompts testily.

“But this can’t continue. This is a  _curse_ , Alec. You… you might think he’s your soulmate, but you haven’t even seen his face! It could be a trap,” she cries, voice escalating. She’s holding on to his arms too tightly, and he knows she’s scared.

“Izzy, I know, but I promised to wait. It’s not –”

“How do you know it’s not, Alec? How can you promise anything if you don’t even know his name! He could be a demon masquerading as your soulmate, for all we know. Wake up and open your eyes,” Jace hisses. He drags Alec away from his sister and grabs his face in his rough hands. “Wake. Up.”

Alec turns away, forcing his parabatai’s hands off him. “No, Jace. I trust him, he’s –”

Jace digs his nails into Alec’s bicep hard enough to draw blood. “Listen to me! Your head’s turned to mush, Alec. You don’t know shit about this guy.”

“Alec, we’re just worried. We care about you. We don’t want you to get hurt over this.”

“He’s my soulmate!” Alec shouts, ripping himself away from Jace and tearing the bandage from his wrist, shoving it in Jace’s face. “Do you see that? Zero! This is what happened the night I met him.” His breath is erratic, eyes wild. “So tell me, who is he if he’s not my soulmate?”

Izzy steps in between Alec and Jace, forcing his gaze to her eyes. “Find out for yourself,” she says.

She hands him a witchlight stone.

***

He looks in the mirror, and this is what he sees.

A pale, drawn face. Bruises under hazel eyes. Dark hair that never falls flat.

Under that…

Contentment. Happiness. Devotion to an unknown face.

And under that…

Doubt.

***

Is this the beginning or the end?

***

“It’s been ages since I’ve gone clubbing,” Magnus mumbles, sleep in his voice. “I used to love it, and getting dressed for it was my  _favorite_. But now I’m old and boring and all I want to do is figure out how to get out of this and find you.”

They’ve reversed positions this time. Magnus is resting his head against Alec’s legs, and Alec finds himself idly tracing along the delicate skin of Magnus’ collarbone.

“That’s a worthy endeavor,” Alec says lowly.

Magnus sighs. “Of course it is, if it brings me to you.”

Alec starts. Every single time Magnus says something like this, a cheesy line, it shouldn’t make him melt, but it does.

He tracks his fingers up Magnus’ neck, tickling the skin there, before they come to rest on his lips. Bending down, he presses an easy kiss to Magnus’ mouth.

(he still can’t believe he can do this)

Magnus hums happily, and Alec feels a spot in the center of him warming.

It’s slow, but eventually Magnus falls asleep, his breath stable and deep, interrupted only by the occasional snuffle. Alec’s pulse spikes, his palms are suddenly sweating, because now’s his chance.

(should he?)

He carefully, silently pushes his hand into his pocket, rolling the stone around his hand, seeing the barest pinpricks of light through the dark fabric of his jeans.

(he shouldn’t)

He releases the stone and pulls his hand out.

(he could be a demon masquerading as your soulmate!)

(wake up)

(wake up)

(find out for yourself)

He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls the witchlight stone out, and the pure white glow shocks his eyes, setting the room ablaze.

Alec looks down and sees Magnus for the very first time.

Sees him.

For the very first time.

By the Angel.

He doesn’t… there are no words…

Alec notes the smooth skin, the streaks of color in his hair, the dark eyeliner, the plush lips, but it’s just… he’s beautiful. That’s it.

He reaches out, running his fingers across the fragile skin of Magnus’ eyelids, still marveling at the face in front of him. This is the face of the man who makes Alec laugh, who calls him darling, who kisses him and says sweet things.

Alec reaches down to kiss him…

And Magnus’ eyes flutter open drowsily.

“Alexander?” Magnus asks quietly. The dullness of sleep on his face is suddenly washed away at the realization that he can see. “Alexander?” His eyes grow bright and glassy, reflecting the ethereal gleam of the witchlight. He sits up, turning to face Alec, horror on his face. “No, no, Alec, we can’t –”

It's breathtaking to  _see_  the expression on Magnus’ face, the movement of his lips when he speaks, the tick in his jaw, the way his eyes flit over Alec’s face, seeing  _him_  for the first time.  And Alec wants to keep looking, but he’s distracted, he sees –

“Y-you… you’re a warlock,” he says, mouth wide in shock, brow furrowed.

Magnus’ eyes are cat eyes. Swirling gold and green and yellow, slit-pupiled, inhuman. Demon.

“Wait, Magnus… Magnus Bane?”

Alec is an idiot. A total idiot. He’d heard the name, the thought had crossed his mind, but he hadn’t explored it, couldn’t even fathom that maybe, just maybe, his soulmate was a warlock. The  _High Warlock of Brooklyn_. He stares, wide-eyed, at Magnus, but then…

Magnus’ eyes dim. The glow disappears, and all he can see in those eyes is hurt and disappointment before it turns into an empty, vacant stare.

Alec opens his mouth to say –

A sudden burst of shadow erupts from the middle of the room, engulfing the light coming from Alec’s palm. Magnus and Alec scramble to their feet. From the darkness emerges the shifting facsimile of a man, tall and gaunt, image twisting between black vapor and human features. The only constants are sharp bone teeth, gleaming white, and vivid eyes. Cat eyes. Magnus’ eyes.

It speaks.

The words boom loudly, but they aren’t sharp, they don’t bounce off the walls. Instead they’re vague, slippery, settling on Alec’s skin like oil that won’t wash off. His ears are ringing, but between the pounding he hears snippets of phrases like  _finally gave in_  and  _took you long enough_  and  _have you had fun_? The murky blackness walks, glides, slips over toward them, and Alec shrinks back.

_do you see his warlock’s eyes?_

Alec’s eyes involuntarily slip toward Magnus, who’s there and real but frozen still.

_do you feel the way your lip curls in disgust? do you see the revulsion in your expression?_

_he does._

Alec looks again toward that unfamiliar, familiar (beloved) face, standing two feet (a mile) away, and he sees it. He sees that tired, vacuous look again, so unmistakable it makes him shudder.

(what has he done? he didn’t mean that, he didn’t mean to, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t _care_ )

The face grows closer, the eyes intense as a shadow tongue appears between those biting teeth, and curls around Magnus and Alec, tasting the regret and confusion and pain coloring the air.

_mm… I’ve waited a long time to play this game. how long do you think your pain will feed me?_

Shadow fingers reach out, wrapping around Magnus, and Alec wakes up,  _wakes up_ , reaching out and clutching Magnus’ wrist tightly. He pushes and kicks at the darkness to no effect.

“No, no, get away, get the  _fuck_  away! No, Magnus, I’m sorry, don’t, I didn’t mean to...”

But then the darkness is absorbing Alec, too, and it burns hot and cold and heavy, his bones creaking under unseen pressure. Magnus looks at Alec, the deadness in his expression still stabbing into Alec, and he’s getting taken away. Alec strengthens his grip, tries to pull him back.

Magnus’ golden eyes say  _I’m sorry I’m not what you expected_.

“No, you’re perfect, please…” Alec tries to pull Magnus close, to press his hand to his chest, because Magnus has to know, has to feel his heart, see the truth. He thinks,  _I haven’t had you long enough, how can I fix this, come back_.

And then the shadows swallow them both.

***

Alec wakes up in the Institute. He doesn’t leave his room. He ignores the knocking, he ignores the yells, he ignores everything except the ache in his chest.

***

This is not how it was supposed to be.

This is not how love is supposed to be.

***

He doesn’t go out to patrol that night.

He sleeps restlessly instead, and he dreams.

The burn of guilt begins slowly.

It starts at the base of his skull, and then a fine-tipped knife carves it way down his back until the skin is flayed open and the bone shines white.

Or maybe that isn’t it. Maybe it’s an explosion from his chest that cracks his ribs and sends his heart flying.

Or maybe it’s a memory of Magnus. A memory of telling stories while sitting on the ground, and laughing, and kissing chapped, hungry lips. A memory that turns into a vision of Magnus in his lap, lit by a witchlight stone, with distress in his luminous eyes.

Alec can’t tell.

All he knows is that it  _hurts_. It hurts because he promised and still, he did this.

He wakes up. He’s in his room. He’s not with Magnus.

He punches the walls until his knuckles bleed.

***

Alec is lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, when Izzy barges into his room on the third day. Apparently, his locking rune has faded.

He turns to his side, away from her.

She walks slowly up to him, heels clicking too loudly against the floor. The bed creaks when she sits, and Alec curls into himself.

“Alec,” she says gently. He flinches away when she brushes his shoulder. He hears her sigh, and he almost feels bad.

“I… we’re sorry, Alec. I don’t know what happened, but… whenever you’re ready, you can tell me, big brother,” she says quietly. “I’ll always be here. Whenever.”

***

 _How do I find you?_  he wonders.  _Will you forgive me if I do?_

***

Alec leaves his room the next day. He doesn’t talk, and they don’t ask.

He knows they’re watching him with wary eyes, waiting for him to implode. He doesn’t. he keeps it in, tries not to think about it, because if he does, he’ll be useless.

(I miss you)

***

Rumors flit up, traveling from vampire to Seelie to werewolf before it finally reaches the Shadowhunters ears.

“Have you heard? They say Magnus Bane hasn’t been sighted in Brooklyn because he’s being held in _Edom_. By a _Greater Demon_.”

“Why does a Great Demon want Magnus Bane?”

“I heard he was cursed. Something about his timer hitting zero and getting punished for it. Who knows? Demons feed on pain, you know?”

Alec locks himself in his room and actually, truly cries.

***

The trickling trail of murdered Downworlders grows, swelling into a city-wide epidemic that culminates that night, the night when Jace’s timer goes to zero. He hears his parabatai laugh for just a moment in good humor about the fact that his soulmate is going to be in a  _club_  when he meets her as they head toward Pandemonium.

(when Jace turns to Alec, his smile dies)

(sorry, he thinks)

(he still hasn't told them)

They meet Clary Fray then. Her hair is an odd shade of red, she’s unfortunately not a mundane, and her voice pisses Alec off, but she makes heart eyes at Jace and he can see they’re in love (or lust) already.

He rolls his eyes, and he catches Izzy grinning at him. He turns away.

***

He goes through the motions of being Alec Lightwood. He thinks he’s doing okay.

***

Things move too fast. First she’s an accidental Shadowhunter, then she’s Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter, then Izzy meets  _her_  soulmate, and all the while, Alec stands in the background, watching impassively as everything changes for the people he loves.

(the people he loves, except one)

That morning, he sits down at the table in the command center. Jace is standing behind Clary, finger hooked in her belt loop, and Izzy has her arms wrapped around Simon, who is visibly swooning. He’s not sure why they’ve been called together – he hasn’t been paying the closest attention – when Hodge sweeps into the room, throws a photo onto the monitor and says –

“Magnus Bane.”

And then Hodge is talking, and Alec faintly hears  _over three hundred years old_  and  _most powerful_  and  _deep mistrust of Shadowhunters_ , sees pictures and pictures and pictures of the man he spent so many nights with. Once again, his heart is thundering in his chest and he feels hot in his skin.

“He’s gone, though, isn’t he?” Jace asks. “That doesn’t help.”

Hodge taps his tablet. “Intel says he got back two weeks ago. He’ll be there tonight.”

(how did I not know?)

(he hasn’t seen or heard or felt Magnus in exactly one year)

They’re talking, he’s not sure what they’re saying, but all he knows is that he's going to a rave tonight.

***

Alec is antsy, jittery, his hands almost shaking as he follows Jace, Clary, and Izzy into the club. He surveys the floor, checking for Valentine's men, keeping his eyes peeled for danger.

(and him)

There are too many people inside, writhing and twisting and completely unaware of the stakes at hand, but Alec is alert, more alert and awake than he’s been in too long. He heads up the side stairs for a better vantage point, slipping between dancing bodies and ducking under flailing arms that still have timers counting down.

He sees Jace and Clary make a beeline toward a corner of a club, and Alec holds his breath at the sight of Magnus, sitting alone. In Alec’s life, he’s only seen Magnus for maybe two minutes at the most, but it’s branded into the inside of his skull, a vision he can never forget. The last time… he had had heartbreak on his face, eyes dull and disappointed while he disappeared into some demon shadow. He looks wan, tired, too thin, and Alec thinks if he could just reach out over the crowd and smooth the furrow in his brow…

Jace and Clary are saying something, and as Magnus speaks, fingers glancing over the ruby in his palm, Alec sees his frown deepen. Magnus looks angry, and Alec can’t help but think he’s beautiful in his anger, his eyes lively, expression fierce, the light glancing off the cuff on his ear. And then Magnus throws his arms up, waving them sinuously in a dance, and Alec has to blink twice, he’s so distracted by the sight.

Magnus is extending his hand, gesturing to Clary, and Alec wants to step forward and take it…

He shoots the arrow almost before he sees the Circle member behind Magnus, rage flaming inside of him because Alec swears, no one is going to hurt Magnus again, after everything Alec has already done.

He rushes down the stairs, sliding through the throng until he’s right there, an arm’s length away from Magnus, who stares pensively at the dead body on the floor before raising his gaze up, freezing deathly still at the sight of the Shadowhunter in front of him. Alec tries to smile, tries to say _I’m sorry_ and _forgive me_ and _I miss you so much_ with one gaze, tries to stop himself from reaching out and touching Magnus’ cheek.

“Hi, Magnus.” His voice is too gravelly, too thick.

His soulmate takes a hesitant step toward.

“Alexander?”

And then Magnus’ eyes flare gold, and Alec surges forward and collides into him, tucks his face into Magnus’ shoulder, revels in the way Magnus wraps his strong arms around Alec.

It’s going to be okay.

_It’s going to be okay._


	2. wait and break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the story Magnus can’t tell when Alec follows him through the portal from the club into his loft. This is the story he isn’t ready to tell, when Alec sits next to him, hesitant and shy with regret clear in his eyes.
> 
> But Magnus tells it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi - for the three words that happen to be in another language, please hover over the word to see the translation!

“Y-you… you’re a warlock,” Alec says. It’s the first thing out of his mouth, the first thing that comes to his mind when he sees his Magnus’ face, and okay, wow, it hurts.

There had been half a moment of wonder, a pleasurable shock at seeing Alec’s face, at finally getting the chance to look at his soulmate with his own two eyes, until he remembered that this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was going to cut a deal with his father, give him something he wanted for their freedom, he was going to solve this without involving Alexander, but now...

 _I wanted more time with you before this_ , Magnus thinks wearily. _I wish we had more time_.

It hurts the way a betrayal hurts, like when a smile turns to a frown and warm eyes go cold. It hurts like a raw, gaping wound that magic can’t close, that just bleeds and bleeds and bleeds until you’re dead.

He thinks, as the darkness sucks him in, as Alec’s frantic gaze disappears and fades, that maybe it would be easier to bleed out. To bleed away all the demon blood in him until he’s all human - dead, maybe, but human. Maybe it would have been easier not to wait centuries for this, to let himself slip away into hell instead and save himself from this blown-open hole in his heart.

***

Asmodeus sits across from him on a lush, high-backed chair, looking back at him with his own eyes, head propped leisurely against his chin. It’s startlingly normal, if it weren’t for the adamas chains around Magnus’ ankles and the feeling of emptiness where his magic used to lie.

“Foolish child of mine,” Asmodeus says. “You always felt so much. Raziel knows you don't get that from me.”

 _You don’t deserve to speak_ , Magnus wants to say, but the words are stuck, as if his father’s spindly fingers are wrapped around his throat.

“It’ll only be a year, Magnus,” Asmodeus says slowly, standing up from his seat and sauntering toward his son. “A year for me to bond with you, now that I finally have you in my realm. Just long enough to have some fun, but not long enough for you to start boring me.” He slides two fingers under Magnus’ chin and wrenches his head up, until cat eyes meet cat eyes. “My little baby boy, finally spending time with his father.”

When it starts, it isn’t what he expected. Magnus thought his father might torture him, perhaps, subject him to physical pain that only a Greater Demon was capable of thinking up, but of course it isn’t. Instead, it’s in his mind, the image of Asmodeus fading in lieu of memories and feelings that hurt far worse.

It begins with a vague, amorphous warmth, like being caressed by the wind or kissed by sunlight. It’s happy, he thinks, unexpectedly so. Then he sees her face, sweet and too thin, with a wide smile and a gap between her teeth. He feels the way her arms used to wrap all the way around him.

And then it turns into fright and _ ibu! _ and his mother’s blood on a dagger that stains his stubby child's fingers when he touches her.

***

When he resurfaces from the memory, Asmodeus is in his face, his mouth a wide, ugly crescent cutting from ear to ear.

Thank the gods in hell they don’t look that alike, Magnus thinks.

“You should consider some parenting lessons,” he bites out. “You piece of sh-”

And it starts all over again.

***

It's funny, sometimes, how time goes. When he was young, he used to count the seasons, marking the passage of time by the bloom of flowers and fall of rain. And then at some point, he's not sure when, that grew muddy, one summer blending into the next with nothing to separate the two, and despite the places he went, the things he did, the loves that passed him by, somehow counting seasons became counting lifetimes.

So when mortals ask him how old he is, waiting for an answer like eight hundred and twenty-two, he laughs. Do they really expect him to know?

What’s the difference between four and five and ten centuries, when all he’s been doing is watching the people around him go old and gray? What’s the point of all this, when the only thing that stopped him from calcifying was distracting himself with parties and Casanova and Camille and waiting?

Lifetimes of waiting.

(for him)

***

It probably isn’t normal to feel the life draining out of you, is it?

***

Magnus is old. He’s old enough that very little of what he sees surprises him or shocks him, because it’s all happened before.

(except Alexander)

So he can’t help but offer a sardonic smile when the things that horrify him the most are events from his own life.

He gets to watch the first girl he ever cared for die again, mauled by a dog in the narrow streets of Burma. He gets to feel the leaden gaze of Spaniards staring at him as he walks down the streets of Madrid, whispering over his eyes and skin, pointing fingers and making faces. He gets to watch Camille, shoulders bare and dotted with bruises, cheat on him again and again, her voice, lilting and thin, weaving lies around him and tearing him to shreds with her sharp nails.

And always, at the end, he gets to see Alexander’s hazel eyes, wide and startled, staring down at him, and gets to listen to the endless litany of _you’re a warlock_ on repeat, echoing in his eardrums.

A reminder of why he’s here.

He doesn’t get to sleep, he doesn’t get to eat, he doesn’t do anything beyond jerk around like a puppet in Asmodeus’ hand. His father keeps him on the edge of life, at that teetering place where he’s so exhausted and hungry that he wants to pass out, but where the spark in him is still struggling to live. And that spark fights, the stupid little thing, fights because Magnus didn’t make it this long without fighting, didn’t make it this long just to die because his father is a sadistic Greater Demon with a penchant for mind torture.

At the start, he fights with anger. He stews in rage and bitterness over Alec, who didn’t trust him, couldn’t wait for him, whose doubt brought Magnus to this place, kneeling and dying in front of his father in Edom.

It works, for a long time. When he feels himself fading, when the exhaustion penetrates his skin and he feels weaker and _less_ than he’s ever felt, Magnus latches onto that anger, lets it boil hot inside of him, and then he’s back, spitting and laughing at Asmodeus.

But then… but there’s a point. His father is feeding him the memory of Alec again, his soulmate’s handsome face illuminated by the witchlight stone, his lips parted in soft shock at Magnus’ demon eyes, and when Magnus tries looking for the anger, it isn’t there. It isn’t there because the memory grows, and in place of the anger is… is just Alexander.

It’s Alec and his runes and the way his eyes change, from fear to regret and apology. It’s the way Magnus can still feel the ghost of Alexander’s fingers around his wrist, pulling and trying to bring him back.

And it’s in the way Alec gasps out those last words. “No, you’re perfect, please…”

And it's in his own memories of being blind in the dark, arms wrapped tight around a tall, lanky body that makes him feel whole.

Asmodeus notices, when Magnus stops hissing like an angry cat.

“Given up already, have you?” he asks, sidling around Magnus, kicking at him lightly with pointed brogues in a ghastly shade of gray. “I thought you’d be more spirited, Magnus. I suppose you don't deserve to be my favorite progeny.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything, concentrating on the slow slide of Asmodeus around him, steadying himself through the pain in his chafed wrists and the remembered warmth of Alexander’s eyes. His father kneels down before him, just far enough that even if he had the strength to lunge forward, Magnus wouldn’t be able to reach him.

“Are you done, then? Would you prefer to end this now? Donate your immortality to my cause, perhaps?” He taps at his chin with his index finger. “Your brand of pain tastes delightful, Magnus. I’m quite grateful, and you know I'm eager to repay you,” he says with a chuckle, the sound sending chills up Magnus’ spine. “Just tell me what I can do for you.”

Gods above, what an _asshole_. No wonder Magnus has so many issues.

“You can learn how to color coordinate your shoes and your suit, for starters,” he says, and he lets himself sink into new horrors as Asmodeus growls and curses at him.

***

He wonders how Alexander is doing. Magnus wishes he were there, to soothe the line between his brows and the downturn of his lips that he’s sure are present. He wishes he could tell Alec that he shouldn’t wallow in guilt, that Magnus understands, because he _does_ , and tell him that he isn’t angry anymore.

He just _misses_ Alexander.

***

If you told him he’d been in Edom for a day, he would believe you. If you told him he’d been there for a decade, he’d believe you too. Magnus has never been good at keeping track of time, despite the timer on his wrist, and without that to orient him now, it’s even worse. All he knows is that his body feels haggard and his mind feels worn too thin, like a thread about to snap and disintegrate.

When the end comes, it’s something of a surprise to him. He’s just experienced his stepfather's attempts at killing him, he can still feel the water over his head and the _why_ in his child's mind. The piercing pain in his head and his lungs is just starting to fade when he sees Asmodeus staring down at him, eyebrow raised.

“Ready?” his father asks. He taps on the adamas chains and nudges Magnus with his shoe. Magnus notices that the cream suit and brown oxfords match nicely this time.

(ha)

“Ready for what?” he croaks out. Gods, his voice is a wreck from the shouting and screaming.

Asmodeus sighs and waves his hand dramatically. “I’m over this. You bore me when you’re this weak.”

Magnus blinks, and then he’s back in his loft, he’s in Brooklyn, he can’t stand and can’t really breathe but he can feel his magic pulsing inside of him and he’s _home_.

He reaches out with his magic, the blue threads feeble and spluttering, and manages to call for Catarina before he faints.

*

*

*

This is the story Magnus can’t tell when Alec follows him through the portal from the club into his loft. This is the story he isn’t _ready_ to tell, when Alec sits next to him, hesitant and shy with regret clear in his eyes.

But Magnus tells it anyway.

*

*

*

“Alexander?”

He’s pale, fists clenched so hard that the knuckles are white. His head is down, eyes unseeing and far, far away, and Magnus wants to brush his fingers against his cheek.

“Alexander?”

“I did this to you,” Alec says dully, voice hollow and hopeless. “I did this to you.” His head drops into his hands, fingers tugging at his hair, and Magnus feels something fracture inside him. More than just a voice in the dark, now, the reality of Alexander, the visible, tangible weight of him sitting next to Magnus, is something he still isn’t used to, something that makes this too poignant, too difficult.

“Alexander, please don’t -”

“I’m sorry, Magnus. I can’t...this, all of it, it’s all my fault and I’m sorry.” He lifts his head to meet Magnus’ gaze, eyes glossy and anguished, the honesty in them so clear it hurts Magnus to witness. He thinks, if he were to go through his ordeal with Asmodeus again, that this would be one of those memories he’d cycle through, one that would break his heart every single time.

“I know you didn’t mean to. I didn’t tell you that to hurt you, Alexander - you just need to know the truth. The truth about me,” Magnus says.

“You spent so long there, getting tortured, and the whole time I was just here. I don’t… I don’t care about this, you need to know,” Alec says, his hand shaking as his fingertips just barely brush against the corners of Magnus’ eyes. “If nothing else, you have to know that. And I’m sorry you ever thought that.”

In another lifetime, Magnus might have scoffed at that. He might’ve dismissed any Shadowhunter who tried to tell so audacious a lie, because that’s always been what they do. But here, with Alexander sitting just inches from him, fierce misery painted onto his face, Magnus can feel those words settle deep into his bones, genuine and true, and the tension that he’s been carrying with him seeps out slowly through his pores.

Blinking, he lets the glamour drop, and he watches carefully as Alec’s eyes widen, not in disgust, but with an unexpected reverence.

 _Oh, Alexander_.

“Are you sure?” Magnus asks, pivoting to face him more directly.

(are you sure about my blood? are you sure about my father?)

Alec reaches out tentatively and takes Magnus’ hand, flipping it over until the line of zeros are facing them. Carefully, he smooths his thumb over the lines, and Magnus feels like he's been sucker-punched by the sight of his soulmate, bent over Magnus’ wrist and tracing the numbers that are _his_.

“I’m sure if… as long as you want this, too. If you don’t mind me, that I’m a Shadowhunter.” His voice cracks on the last word.

(look at you, look at me, how could I mind?)

It’s moments like this that remind Magnus of just how young Alec is, how much he hasn’t seen yet. He’s so anxious, so innocent, so unaware of just how big this really is, that a Shadowhunter and a warlock are soulmates. The history involved, the wars fought, the friends Magnus had that were lost to the cause...

But it’s that part of Alexander, that awkward combination of sweetness and solemnity, that desire in his eyes and the longing in his tone, that propels Magnus forward, brings his forehead to Alec’s until they’re sharing the same breath.

“I missed you, darling,” he murmurs. It feels good to say out loud, after thinking it for so long.

Alec hiccups, then laughs low in his throat. “I, ah, I missed you. Too. A lot.” He blushes, and it’s the most beautiful thing Magnus has seen with his own two eyes.

“You lied to me, you know?” Magnus says, running a finger down Alec’s throat, tracing the rune across his neck.

Alec’s eyes go wide and nervous. “What?”

“You told me you looked average,” Magnus muses aloud, chuckling a little at the way Alexander deflates in relief. “If you’re average, then the rest of us peons are in for a terrible surprise.” He spends a minute staring at Alexander, relishing the curve of his cheeks, the artful mess of his hair, and the eyes that Magnus would very happily drown in.

Alec’s arms go around him then, hands laying flat on the sharpness of Magnus’ shoulder blades, resting his forehead in the crook of his neck. “I didn’t think I’d get to have this,” he says lowly into Magnus’ collarbone. “I thought I’d messed it all up, that I wouldn’t get to see you again.”

Magnus sighs, pulling Alexander closer to him until he’s resting against Magnus’ chest, heavy and warm.

“Thank you for forgiving me,” Alec says quietly, lashes fluttering. “Thank you.”

“I forgave you a long time ago, sweetheart,” Magnus says truthfully, feeling the ceaseless tumult inside of him finally settle down. He clutches Alec a little tighter until he yawns and feels his eyes closing.

***

It’s like there’s a snapback sensation in the lines of his body, like he’s been stretched too thin until now, until this very moment, when he feels loose and limber and like _himself_ again.

Wait, no, not like himself. More like one half of a whole.

And the other half is in his arms.

***

 _ Anak setan _, they scream. They claw at him, kick at him, tell him to die and go away, he with the devil’s eyes will bring a plague on their village, they should drown him, they should sacrifice him, _die die die_ -

“Magnus! Oh my god, Magnus, it’s okay, it’s Alec, please!”

Magnus’ eyes shoot open. There’s a hand cupping his cheek, and he can feel sweat on his temples and a rawness in his throat. “Alexander?”

Alec is hovering over him, gripping his biceps and staring down with alarm. There’s a crease on his cheek from where he laid against Magnus. “Are you okay? Was that a nightmare?”

Magnus nudges himself upward off the sofa where they’d fallen asleep, pushing Alec backwards until the two of them are sitting again. The loft is dark, but still lit by the Brooklyn lights twinkling from outside. He looks up into the shadow of Alexander’s face.

“More like a memory,” he mutters curtly, wiping his hand over his face and ignoring the makeup that’s sure to have smeared. “I can’t seem to get out of the loop of it at night.”

“Magnus,” Alec says. It’s a plea that he doesn’t know how to answer.

“It’s alright, Alexander. I’ll be fine eventually.”

Whenever that is.

***

He knows the Shadowhunters still want Clary's memories to find the Mortal Cup, so he isn't surprised when they barge into his loft the next day. Of course they demand his help summoning a memory demon, and how would he _dare_ refuse to help, because Valentine is evil, because gods know Shadowhunters don’t know how to ask for things politely.

Except Alexander, whose frown is an apology the whole time even as his gaze tracks Magnus’ movements and he smiles every time they make eye contact. Gods above, he’s lovely.

“I don’t want your necklace,” Magnus tells Jace cuttingly as the Shadowhunter pushes the ruby toward him. “I gave it to my psychopathic ex-girlfriend and your Institute has been holding onto it for _leverage_. Please, I’m old, not senile.”

The blond grunts and jerks forward, hand spasming around the hilt of his seraph blade, and okay, are we going to go there? But as blue gathers around Magnus’ fingers, he notices the sheer panic on Alexander’s face.

“Fine, fine,” Magnus relents, feeling just the slightest bit guilty as his magic absorbs back into him. “I’ll help you all get Clary’s memories. But just because you brought your pretty boy along.” He hears Alexander choke as Jace claps him on the back.

Magnus explains the procedure clinically, fortifying himself with a sip of whiskey as he instructs Clary how to draw the summoning pentagram. As far as Greater Demons go, Valak is a little nicer, but summonings take something out of him, and he’s still regaining his strength after his time with Daddy Dearest. When they link hands around the pentagram, he lets the firm touch of Alec’s hand ground him as he recites the words and the swirling gray vortex appears before them, asking for memories of the ones they love.

The memories, as each person releases them, are hazy and distorted in the whirlwind, a combination of sounds and images that float angrily in the air. He sees the kind smile of Jocelyn Fairchild, sees the blur of Clary’s too-bright red hair, hears the dorky laugh of some pale mundane boy.

And then it’s Alexander’s turn, and Magnus watches quietly as the vortex grows dark, turning obsidian black, and then he hears the echoes of a full-bellied laugh followed by a snort, and then a tender, “Alexander,” spoken in a voice that’s dulcet and syrupy. His own voice.

Oh.

Magnus knew, after yesterday, but still. He’s a little stunned, his heart beating erratically out of his chest.

And then it’s his turn, and he knows what’s going to happen as he feels a tug in his gut. What appears is Alexander - it’s _always_ going to be Alexander - reaching out for Magnus, touching softly at Magnus’ eyes, saying “I don’t care about this.” He's sure Alexander's face is on fire at this point, he thinks fondly.

At the last word, the image fades and the wind disappears, and the room is as immaculate as it was before, as if some hidden truth hadn't just been blown open for all to see.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a white wispy memory sink back into Clary before she sways, Jace catching her just before she hits the floor, Izzy rushing to them to help.

He feels a squeeze on his palm, and he realizes he’s still holding Alec’s hand. His eyes linger for a moment, drinking in the way those long fingers wrap firmly around his own, before his gaze rises.

There’s a soft gleam in Alexander’s eyes, tender and indulgent and brutally honest.

Magnus pulls him a bit closer and looks up with a smile, feeling like a child again with his stomach swooping and soaring like a bird in flight. “Hello, Alexander.”

Alec looks happy and flustered and adorable. “Hi.”

This close, Magnus can see every fleck in the glowing brown of Alexander’s eyes. His soulmate is stoic and serious, but somehow every emotion still shines through like the sun peeking out behind heavy clouds, and Magnus can see a fierce sort of hunger in Alexander’s gaze.

***

Whatever was in that memory obviously helped, because he hears that Clary and company get the Mortal Cup from Luke Garroway, of all people, and have it safely hidden in the Institute. And it’s foolish to trust these children he doesn’t know, these Shadowhunters with demon blood on their hands, but he lets it be.

Valentine goes into hiding, which is all that matters, really, because that man is a genocidal asshat, to put it kindly.

***

Nephilim energy is unique, thrumming at a faster wavelength than everybody else, so he can feel them through the warded oak of his front door before they knock. He doesn’t _not_ want to talk to them, but he only ever really has tolerance for one particular Shadowhunter.

“What can I do for you?” Magnus asks simply, letting them through into his space, watching them with interest.

Isabelle’s presence is sharper than Alec’s, her gaze more calculated, and she looks at Magnus with a discerning look that belongs on someone older. The intelligence Alec had described before is clear in her gaze.

And Jace… Jace Wayland. He looks suspicious as he enters the loft, like he’s anticipating an attack, like relaxing is impossible. It’s amusingly similar to Alexander.

“I’m Izzy,” she says, voice yielding and amiable despite her critical gaze. “Alec’s sister. We didn’t get a chance to really speak when we were here for the summoning.” She holds out a hand to him, and Magnus smiles reflexively at her as he shakes her hand. He notices the zeros on her wrist.

“I wanted - we wanted to talk to you. About Alec.”

And something in the air chills, and quite suddenly there’s a gravity about his visitors, a soberness that Magnus is sure isn’t normal around these two.

Isabelle nudges at Jace with an elbow, and he steps forward, uncomfortable and reluctant, lacking all the impertinent confidence he’d had the night of the summoning.

“This past year,” he says gruffly, staring at his boots as he toes the floor. “This past year, he never told us. About what he was going through, about how… how he lost you.” Jace looks up, and Magnus notices his mismatched eyes for the first time. “He finally told us last night.”

Magnus doesn't respond. He's not shocked that Alec kept it in.

“And we wanted to say we're sorry. Because Alec won’t have told you this, but it was us. Izzy and I… we suggested that he use the witchlight stone. We were worried, and we didn’t know what was happening, so… yeah. We’re sorry.” Jace looks unhappy, and next to Izzy, the two of them are the picture of remorse.

There are too many things that that Magnus feels at once with this new revelation. Relief, partially, that Alec might have trusted him, might have planned on waiting. Appreciation for the fact that they told him the truth. But mostly…

“Thank you,” Magnus says honestly. “For watching out for him. He acts like he doesn’t need it, but he always will. He’s lucky to have you for family.”

And the three of them share a look, _that_ look, the look that says _I love him_ and _I just want him to be happy_ , and it’s enough. It’s enough for the ice to crack, for the bloom of camaraderie to begin, despite everything.

Magnus snaps, and a tumbler of bourbon appears in his hand.

“Drinks, then?”

Jace staggers forward, gratitude written clear in his eyes. “God, _yes_.”

***

Magnus updates the wards to allow Alexander in at any time. He doesn’t want to presume - his soulmate is still barely out, he’s a Nephilim, and they’re still relearning each other - so he’s a little astonished and delighted the first time Alexander shows up unbidden at his loft.

And it doesn’t stop once it starts. Sometimes he stays for the night, curling into Magnus with a flush high on his cheeks, falling asleep with his nose buried into Magnus’ shoulder as they watch trash television and lounge on the couch. Sometimes, he stays for five minutes, smiling bashfully and saying _hello_ and _I missed_ you before he pops out again to slay more demons.

But every day, without fail, Alexander stops by. And Magnus knows this can’t be easy for Alexander, knows Maryse and the Clave are hovering over his head the entire time, but the stupidly immature, happy feeling that fizzles in his chest every time he sees his Shadowhunter…

The push and pull of the game they play is odd and thrilling, and Magnus wants to throw himself into this, dazzle and woo and do all the things he’s best at, but it’s not that easy.

More than once, he opens his eyes in the curious hours of the night, finding himself in his bed instead of the living room, coughing and panting with tear tracks down his face, his year-long ordeal still haunting him. He wakes up to his hands clutching Alec’s soft cotton shirt with a death grip, his head bowed under Alec’s chin, and around him his soulmate’s hands trailing softly along his spine.

And sometimes, at dark moments like this when Magnus feels embarrassingly powerless, Alexander drags a finger against his cheek until his thumb is pressed against Magnus’ lower lip, eyes glowing and glued to the place where skin meets skin, and presses his mouth to Magnus’, slow and gentle, until Magnus’ breath calms and his heart steadies.

.

.

This is what it feels like, then. To have someone put him first.

***

“Ragnor, he’s… he’s _everything_.”

Ragnor gives him an unimpressed look. “You said that in the 1960s about Nutella as well, my friend, but -”

Magnus splutters. “I’m serious, you condescending vegetable.”

“-but I suppose I’m happy for you, Magnus.”

***

It’s natural, the way it happens. No fanfare, no Dom Perignon, no expensive dinner or serenading.

Just Alexander and him and the sound of Brooklyn in the background.

Alec is breathing heavily, panting as Magnus noses against his throat, licking a long line up that pretty rune and tracing his tongue around his Adam’s apple. He tastes salty-sweet and a little bitter, and Magnus has his teeth on the stubbly skin of Alexander’s jaw when he feels hands petting awkwardly at his hips.

Pushing himself up and bracing his forearms around Alexander’s head, he whispers, “You’re allowed to touch, sweetheart,” as he dips his tongue into Alec’s ear. His soulmate whimpers, and despite for the many years of experience he likes to tout, this is enough to send all the blood in Magnus’ body south.

Alec is still slow to move, hands still floating in the air when they should _be on Magnus’ ass_.

“Do you think I’m going to break if you touch me?” he asks lowly, grinding down a bit. They both groan.

“I’m not… I do touch you,” Alec stutters unhelpfully, even as his fists clench and he squirms in place.

“Stop treating me like glass, Alexander,” Magnus murmurs. “Like you think I’m going to keel over if you do anything that’s even _slightly_ less than virginal.”

“I want to,” Alec says plaintively, and Magnus feels a thrill run through him at the small confession. “But I want to be careful, after… after everything. I want to take care of you.”

Magnus stills.

He can still feel the lust in his veins and the want in his bones, but this… this is his soulmate, his careful, sweet boy who thinks about everybody except himself, who worries too much and smiles too little. Even now, when Magnus can feel Alexander vibrating in his own skin, pulled taut and on the verge of breaking, he’s thinking of Magnus, and gods -

(I love you)

“Will you take care of me like this, then?” Magnus asks, the warm, overwhelming feeling pooling heavy in his veins as he catches Alexander’s lips under his once more.

It’s more frantic after that, more desirous and hefty and everywhere, all at once. Magnus hasn’t felt like this ever, and gods it’s so much, to feel something new, to experience something new, to have _him_.

“Magnus,” Alec gasps out between kisses. “Tonight. I want to… I want this. If you do, too.” His face goes red, the blush traveling slow and steady down his neck and under the collar of his shirt. Magnus pulls at the cotton with one finger, tracing soft skin over bone.

“I do,” Magnus says, and he means so much more than those two words.

(I do. I do. I do.)

He presses one more kiss to Alexander’s temple before clambering off of him, grinning at the way Alec’s hands reach up for him. Drawing close, he hooks one arm under Alec’s knees and the other around his back, his shoulders bulging and tense as he lifts Alexander up.

“Magnus, stop, I'm heavy, oh my god, what are you doing?” he cries out in alarm, scrambling and looping his arms around Magnus’ neck, his face inches from Magnus’.

Magnus smiles, and he knows it's not kind. It's seductive and dark and full of promises he’s going to keep.

“I'm taking you to bed,” he murmurs slowly as he walks into his room, loving the solid weight of Alec in his arms as he lays him down on his bed and spells the lights dim.

As Magnus bends down to run his hands under Alec’s black shirt, Alec stops him with a reluctant hand on his chest.

“Magnus, I…” he swallows with a loud gulp, eyes locked onto Magnus’. “Tell me what you want me to do. I-I want to be good at this,” he confesses with an exhale. “For you.”

Gods above, damn it, Alexander is going to _kill_ him before he even gets started. Just his words are enough to drive Magnus absolutely wild.

Magnus pushes Alexander down until his dark hair is splayed against the red silk of the pillows, shoving his shirt up and exposing that gorgeous stomach and that line of hair traveling down, down, down...

Magnus’ gaze goes half-lidded and covetous, and he licks his lips.

“So be good for me, Alexander.”

***

Magnus asks Alec to move in with him on a Tuesday.

***

Alexander tracks wet mud into the loft after long nights on patrol. He leaves ichor stains on the couch when he drops his jacket there. He sprawls big on the bed and hogs the sheets, forcing Magnus to curl around him instead. He puts the toilet paper rolls on _backwards_ , the heathen.

Yet you couldn't get Magnus to mind if you gave him the crown jewels from off Her Majesty's head.

***

This is Magnus Bane, someday soon:

On one day, he will work with the Shadowhunters to capture Valentine and lock him away in Idris, far from the Downworlders he wants to kill.

On another, he will take Alexander to Java, to the little village he was born in, and show him _that_ plot of land, and show him _that_ pond, and let the tears fall, trailing down his face and dripping back into the land and Alec rubs a thumb over his knuckles in little circles.

And later still, Alexander will bend down on one knee, take a deep breath, and fall over onto his backside, turning a violet shade of red before he and Magnus laugh until they can’t breathe, laugh until Magnus says _yes yes yes_.

And the days will start to matter to Magnus, each clear and crisp and pregnant with meaning, now that the waiting is over.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for joining me on this angst-to-fluff trip!
> 
> find me on tumblr [@s-erendipitiness](https://s-erendipitiness.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
